


Envy

by BlackSkyandRoses



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Jealousy, Light Dom/sub, NSFW, Smut, Tumblr Prompt, envy - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-04-08 08:49:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4298388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackSkyandRoses/pseuds/BlackSkyandRoses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the lovely Eiluned, based off of a tumblr prompt: "Wait...are you jealous?" </p><p>An overly amorous guest comes to Skyhold, and Cullen isn't happy about it. A bit of fluff, and a lot of smut towards the end. dom!Cullen makes a bit of a reappearance.</p><p>Isolde Trevelyan belongs to Eiluned, she's not mine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Envy

Cullen was roused from his paperwork by the clatter of horse hooves on the cobblestones. It appeared that their latest guests had arrived. He stretched and pushed himself away from his desk. Seeing if it was the expected merchants from Orzammar or Josephine’s latest “guests of note” was a good excuse as any to take a quick walk onto the battlements.

From his vantage point, he could see half a dozen horses standing in the lower courtyard, attached to a truly horrid carriage. There was so much golden inlay and wrought gilt on it, Cullen didn’t even know how they were supposed to get in and out of the damned thing. He snickered as he saw Isolde appear on the scene, trailing slightly behind Josephine. Her nose wrinkled briefly as she took in the monstrosity of a carriage, but she quickly resumed her neutral “meeting with guests of the Inquisition” expression when the doors opened.

A man stepped out, dressed head to toe in what Cullen could only assume was the latest Orlesian finery. A plumed hat, the usual pointless mask, silk brocade shirt that was cut open in such a way that Cullen was forcefully reminded of Varric, elbow high gloves, silk trousers tucked into high boots that were clearly not designed to be worn outdoors. Cullen quickly smothered a snicker when he realized the man also had silk handkerchiefs tied around his upper arm and his thigh. Sky blue and royal purple; he could only imagine they were the colours of whatever house this man belonged to. Bloody Orlesians.

His smile faded somewhat when the man untied the one around his leg and presented it to Isolde with a flourish. She took the token politely and offered her hand, but the man pulled her into an embrace and placed a not-terribly-chaste kiss on her jaw. He snarled a little inside when the man’s hands ran down her back.

Isolde disengaged from the man and stepped away, maintaining a careful distance between the two of them as Josephine linked her arm with his and started up the steps to Skyhold. She sighed and ran a hand through her dark red hair, pushing it out of her face.

Cullen didn’t even realize he was smiling as he watched her when one of his runners came up to him.

“Commander. Word for you.”

He sighed, and took the letter. It was from Rylen, in the Western Approach. Something about corpses in the wells and Vargheesi in the Oasis.

“It never ends, does it.”

“If it did, we’d both be out of a job, ser.”

He snickered. “And that would never do, would it? What’s your name, soldier?”

He walked back to his office with the new recruit, pushing Isolde, Josephine and their latest visitor out of his mind with an effort.

\-----------------

Isolde was unimpressed. And bored. Luckily she had managed to maneuver herself so Josephine remained between her and… whoever the hell her visitor was. She would have to quietly ask Josie at a later opportunity. They had toured Skyhold’s main halls and gardens (she had to firmly refuse a request to tour her private chambers, which was a sadly common occurrence with these people). Finally, they were heading to the Herald’s Rest for a quick peek. As they walked in, she spotted Bull, Dorian and Krem sitting at a table. As she watched, the rest of the Chargers joined them, carrying plates of food and flagons of drink.

“As you can see, we’ve established a tavern where the soldiers can relax when off duty, listen to music, mingle and drink,” Josephine was saying.

“Ah.. yes. How quaint,” her guest said, looking around. He looked like he was trying very hard to not wrinkle his nose in distaste.

“Perhaps you and I could sit down over drinks, your worship?” he asked, spotting an empty table in the corner.

“Perhaps another time. You wanted the ‘full tour’ so to speak, my lord, and we’re not yet done seeing everything!” Isolde tried her damndest to sound cheerful and enthusiastic. As they turned to leave, she waved frantically behind the backs of the others and caught Dorian’s eye.

“Help me!” she mouthed to him, gesturing to Lord what’s his face.

Dorian nodded, and tapped his wrist once. Five minutes, and they’d come rescue her. Thank the Maker they’d arranged this system. When noble guests started streaming into Skyhold, they all seemed to expect that she would be there to entertain them, to listen to their self congratulatory stories of petty victories and tall tales of glorious triumphs. It was endless, and she had better things to do than to listen to them. Like saving the world, for one.

They were arriving at the stables when Dorian arrived, looking suitably out of breath and concerned. “Lady Inquisitor, I must beg a moment of your time. I have some urgent news I need to go over with you before we set out on our next expedition.”

“Really now, this is absurd! How dare you interrupt us?” Isolde’s guest blustered and attempted to slip an arm around her waist, but she stepped forward and took the sheaf of papers from Dorian’s hands.

“Of course, Dorian. We must be suitably prepared,” she turned back and bowed to the other two.

“I am sure Ambassador Montilyet will finish the tour commendably, My Lord. I do beg your forgiveness, but I must attend to this if we are to be suitably prepared for our next leave from Skyhold. The safety of my troops and my inner circle is of the highest priority.”

She turned on her heel and walked away quickly, ignoring the indignant squawks of the man behind her.

“Thank the Maker for you, Dorian. He was insufferable,” Isolde huffed, exasperated. “I cannot believe the nerve of that man! I don’t even know why he’s here!”

Dorian smirked. “Darling, come with me back to the tavern. I know your strapping young templar has been waylaid by the Seeker, so come, have some drinks with us and relax. I highly doubt you will have to see him again. If he annoys you again, we’ll set Sera on him.”

Isolde grinned at the memory of the last time that had happened. She still didn’t know how Sera had gotten her hands on so many peaches, but it had been worth it.

“Alright, you’re on,” she shuffled the pages in her hands. “What’s this?”

“Oh, uh... Bull and some of the Chargers were trying to come up with more… risque lyrics to some of the songs in the tavern.”

Isolde laughed and scanned the hastily scrawled notes.

“Some of these aren’t bad, actually. We should ‘accidentally’ let Sera get a hold of them…”

\-------------------------------------------

The next morning, Isolde woke up with the dawn and nudged Cullen, who was sleeping beside her.

“Rise and shine, Sunshine, let’s get going.”

“Mrrpgh,” Cullen groaned and tossed an arm over his head.

Isolde smiled. He did look utterly gorgeous in her bed, naked under the sheets with his golden curls splayed out over the pillow. Her eyes roamed over his body eagerly, marking and memorizing every line and angle of his body.

Cullen rolled over and wrapped an arm around her waist, snuggling her in close to him. He radiated heat, and she curled in gladly. She was quite a bit smaller than him, and he easily draped himself over her.

“We really should get going,” she said, her voice muffled against his shoulder. Her breath tickled the sensitive spot at the juncture of shoulder and neck, and he grinned.

“In a few minutes, perhaps.”

It would up being another hour until they made it down to the breakfast table.

After breakfast, it was time to meet with her advisors and those who would accompany her on her next expedition to the Emerald Graves.

She ducked behind a statue to avoid another gaggle of gossiping visitors that always seemed to be cluttering up the main hall, and slipped into Josephine’s office.

“Josephine. We have got to do something about these nobles cluttering up my hallways and taking up my time.”

“Inquisitor, they are all very important visitors, and we are hoping to make quite a few alliances with their visits.”

“Yes, I know, but that one yesterday? Who is he? Duke ‘I can’t keep my hands to myself?’”

Josephine sighed. “Ah. Yes. About him. Duke Everhardt Windermere of Orlais”

Isolde couldn’t contain the laughter that bubbled up at his name.

“Really? Maker, his parents must have hated him terribly to burden him with that name.”

Josephine managed a small chuckle.

“Yes, well. He has come here from Val Royeaux with a marriage proposal. After your performance at the Winter Palace he has been… enraptured with you.”

Isolde stared at Josephine for a full two minutes before she spoke. Her green eyes bored into the other woman’s brown ones.

“Please tell me you are not about to ask me to consider it. I know Cullen and I haven’t exactly made a Skyhold-wide announcement, but really, Josephine…”

Josephine chuckled, a rich and full sound.

“Of course not! I have already informed him you are otherwise promised to another, but he was rather insistent. I figured I would let you know in case he managed to catch you unaware.”

Isolde looked up at Josephine wearily. “Right. Well if he asks again, tell him I will set Sera and Bull on him. Him and his handkerchiefs.”

Josephine picked up her writing board. “I’ll make an official note of it. Now, regarding your trip to the Emerald Graves. You need to make contact with a man named Fairbanks…”

\-----------------------------------------

Isolde had managed to avoid the lingering duke for four days, thankfully. She’d recruited everyone in her inner circle, including Cullen, to help her avoid him. Sadly, her luck wasn’t going to last. She was sitting on a stone bench in the gardens, looking up at the stars. She and Cullen had agreed to meet there after they were both done their respective duties for the day. She was due to leave Skyhold again the next day and couldn’t wait to spend the night with him before she left. They had been busier than normal, which left little time for them to spend together. All they had gotten in the last few days was stolen snatches of conversation and covert kisses on the battlements before falling into bed exhausted at the end of the night. It wasn’t enough for Isolde, not when she was leaving for several weeks tomorrow. She wanted more, and it had to be tonight.

Isolde stretched on the stone bench happily, thinking of the night to come. She shivered in anticipation, thinking of Cullen’s breath on her neck, his fingers trailing down her chest… she was snapped out of her thoughts by a hand on her shoulder.

“Cullen, I was wondering when you -” she sighed in disappointment and annoyance when she realized it was Duke Windermere of the handkerchiefs (of which he had now given her several) and the annoying tendency to be exactly where she was at all times.

“My lady, I’ve barely been able to see you these past few days! When I travelled so far to come see you,” he bowed with a flourish, and offered her yet another silk handkerchief. Pointless things. She took it and placed it on the bench beside her without commenting on it.

“Yes, well. I am a very busy woman, being the Inquisitor. My apologies, My Lord.” Damn her habit of being polite to nobility. She was raised to be excruciatingly polite in such company and was unable to shake the habit. Of course, it worked out well in Skyhold. Josephine and Leliana loved her ability to flatter and bullshit their guests without offending them, and everyone else (except Vivienne) loved hearing her bitch about them afterwards.

“My lady, I have a question for you. I have been unable to stop thinking about you since I first saw you at the Empress’s masquerade. Your mastery of the game, the way you handled yourself against those demons and brigands, how stunning you looked in your Inquisition uniform. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, and I must make you mine.”

He dropped to one knee, and pulled out a small box with a flourish.

\------------------------------------

Cullen couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He had come out of one of the side doors, hidden in the shadows, and stopped to watch Isolde for a moment. The starlight shone on her hair and reflected off her armour. He was close enough to see her freckles, and he smiled. One day he would count every single one of them. He was about to step forward and greet her when that bloody duke hurled out the door, almost tripping over one of the planters of elfroot.

He snickered. The man had been dogging Isolde for days, trying to claim her attention. Probably wanted to spend as much time as he could bragging about himself, so he could go home and pretend to all the other bloody nobles that the Inquisitor had been hanging off on his every word. He leaned back against the wall, curious for a moment. He chuckled when the man handed her yet another handkerchief (he had some plans for those ridiculous things, mostly cleaning up after he and Isolde had sex. Petty, but satisfying.)

Cullen stopped laughing when the man dropped to one knee in front of her. Jealousy like he’d never experienced before sprang up, hot and acidic. When the man had the audacity  to try to claim her as his own, Cullen’s heart slammed and he could hear it pounding in his ears. He snarled, and before he knew it, he was striding across the gardens, one hand gripping the pommel of his sword tightly. He reminded himself that Josephine would have a fit if he murdered the duke, and so he attempted to fix a more neutral expression onto his face.

\----------------------------------

Isolde sighed with relief when Cullen’s voice rang out across the gardens. Duke Windermere’s eyes widened behind that ridiculous mask he still wore, and he frowned when he saw the Commander crossing the garden’s towards the Inquisitor.

“Commander, I know you think you have important news for the Inquisitor, but this can wait,” he snapped, standing up.

Cullen ignored him entirely. It was that, or punch him.

“Isolde,” he said, deliberately using her first name. “I apologize for being late. I had to go over troop movements in the Western Approach with Captain Rylen once more before I was able to get away.”

Isolde stood up, smiling warmly at her Commander.

“That is quite alright, Commander,” she said, unable to shake her damn habit of names and titles. “We must make sure our troops are well situated.”

She turned back to the Duke and decided to pretend that she had no idea he was about to propose marriage to her.

“It has been a great honour to have you visit Skyhold, my lord, but I fear I must depart. I am to leave quite early tomorrow morning, so it is quite unlikely we shall meet again for some time. I hope your visit has been satisfactory, and I look forward to an alliance with house Windermere.”

She bowed formally, and started towards the door that would take her and Cullen up to her room. Cullen slipped an arm around her waist, and shot an unashamedly triumphant look over his shoulder at the Duke, who was standing there flabbergasted. They swept up the stairs to her chambers, and as soon as the door was closed, Cullen turned and pinned her to the door, one hand on her hip and the other caressing the side of her face as he kissed her forcefully.

When they finally parted, Cullen shifted against Isolde, keeping her pinned to the door with his hips.

“Mmm... someone’s eager tonight,” Isolde teased.

Cullen kissed and nipped at her neck, leaving little red marks as he went. Jealousy still had its green claws buried in him, and he was determined to claim what was his.

“I cannot. Believe. The nerve. of that man. He wanted to make you his?!” Each sentence was punctuated with another nip.

Isolde squirmed under his ministrations, her heart pounding. She loved it when Cullen was forceful, loved it when he played the dominant card.

“So what? We both received several offers of marriage after the masquerade,” she reminded him, tipping her head back against the door.

“I didn’t have to watch another man try to make you his, did I?” he growled in her ear. He unpinned her hair and wound his hand into it as it tumbled around her shoulders, the dark red curls gleaming in the candlelight of the stairwell.

Isolde opened her eyes, and put her hands on Cullen’s chest, looking at him curiously. She was unable to help a smile as she said...

“Wait a minute. Are you jealous?”

Cullen grabbed her hands and pulled her away from the door.

“Yes. I was. Watching that man try to woo you was one thing, but to have the sheer gall to try and make you his is something else entirely. You are mine, and belong to no other man. You belong to me, and to yourself. No other.”

Isolde raised an eyebrow at him. Jealousy wasn’t something she had seen out of the commander before, and she had an inkling it was the phrase “make you mine” that had so set him off. In that case…

“Well, if that’s the case, Commander, why don’t you take me upstairs and make me yours, hmm?”

Instead of replying, Cullen picked her up, and carried her the rest of the way to the bedroom.

\--------------------------------------------------------------

Cullen deposited Isolde gently on the bed and began stripping off his armour quickly. There was an armour stand by the stairs for it, but at the moment he was too impatient and simply dropped it onto the floor. The plush carpet muffled the worst of the crash, and Cullen smirked. That carpet was awfully plush...

Isolde stripped down to her smalls, and was lying on the bed looking at Cullen slyly.

“So. It makes you jealous when others try to claim me? Put their marks on me?” She shifted, sitting up on her knees and smirking at Cullen.

In response, Cullen leaned down and kissed her forcefully, cradling the back of her head with his hand. As the kiss deepened, he got a little rougher, biting down on her bottom lip and tugging on her hair lightly.

Isolde gasped when he pulled her hair hard enough to tip her head back. She pushed her chest out a little, aching for Cullen to touch her everywhere and anywhere. Her nipples felt tight and her cunt throbbed in anticipation. Maker, she needed him to touch her badly.

“You are mine, and mine alone,” Cullen rumbled in her ear. “And tonight, I’m going to reinforce my claim on you… if you’ll play.”

If you’ll play. It was their code word for when one of them wanted to take control, shift things into a dominant/submissive mode. It was consent to the agreed upon rules, and all they entailed.

“Of course,” Isolde’s green eyes met his amber ones, both full of unspoken desire and want.

“Good.”

Cullen tugged on her wrist, indicating he wanted her to move. She stood up, and he led her to the foot of the bed, where he sunk down onto the chest there, and she knelt on the carpet in front of him.

Isolde needed no instructions, and she took him firmly in hand and started to stroke, slowly but forcefully. She used her thumb to flick across the head on the upstroke and twisted her hand a little bit on the downstroke, creating a delicious friction.

“Do you think that the Duke imagined me doing this for him? That he would want to claim me as fully as you have? Or do you think he wanted me as a pretty trophy wife?” Isolde still wasn’t done pushing Cullen yet; this jealousy was new, and she had an idea that it might result in some spectacular things in bed. “Do you think he wanted the hand that can close rifts wrapped around his cock, or - “

Cullen wound one of his hands into her red locks, tugging lightly.

“I think we can find a better use for your mouth than talking about that insipid interloper,” he rumbled, looking down at her.

Isolde smirked but obliged willingly, wrapping her lips around his cock and taking as much of his as she could into her mouth.  She preferred when Cullen stood up when she sucked him off, as he towered above her tiny frame. Yet being here, in between his spread thighs, bent over his cock, was something else. She rested her free hand on his thigh as she began to suck him off in earnest.

Cullen tipped his head back and let out a low moan.

“Maker. Your mouth feels like fucking sin, woman. I love looking at you like that, on your knees in front of me, with my cock halfway down your throat. Knowing that nobody else ever gets to see this, the herald of Andraste on her knees sucking me off…” he panted, unable to continue.

Isolde pulled off of him with an utterly obscene sound and looked up. His head was still tipped back so she nudged his thigh to get his attention. When he looked down at her, she locked her eyes with his and licked slowly up from the base all the way to the head of his cock, and then she took him all in her mouth again, just as slowly.

“Isolde... fuck…” Cullen was almost beyond words. He needed to be inside her now.

“Stop. Now.”

She stopped, settling back on her knees and looking at him quizzically. A small half smile played on her lips.  

Cullen turned her around so she was facing the fireplace, away from him, and bent her at the waist so that she was splayed out in front of him.

Isolde moaned a little when he bent her over. Fuck, she loved this. She shifted slightly, resting most of her weight on her forearms and spread her legs slightly. She was already soaked with anticipation, and Cullen had no problems slipping inside of her in one slow, smooth motion. When he was buried to the hilt inside her, he pulled all the way out and did it again, and again, until she was panting and couldn’t handle it anymore.

“Cullen, please, just fuck me already!” she begged, sounding desperate.

Cullen smirked, and tightened his grip on her hips as he slid in and out at an excruciatingly slow place.  It was taking all of his considerable willpower not to slam forward and just rut, just fuck her until they were both senseless and incoherent, but he wanted to hear her beg him to claim her.

“Is that what you want, love? You want me to fill you, to leave my mark on your hips while I fuck you from behind? Do you want me to claim you like nobody else has ever claimed you before?”

His right hand slid off of her hip and stole down towards the apex of her thighs, seeking that little bundle that would set her nerves on fire. He started to rub her clit lightly, leaning forward to whisper in her ear as he did.

“Do you want me to make you mine, so fully and completely that you’ll never go back? That everyone in Skyhold will know that you belong to me?”

Isolde gasped at his touch and his words.

“Fuck, yes, Cullen, please.”

She turned her head and caught him in a kiss, so desperate and sweet Cullen thought he would come right there on the spot. He kissed her deeply for a moment, increasing the pressure of his fingers, before straightening up and snapping his hips forward.

The sound she made when he did almost drove him over the edge. He grasped her hip tight enough to leave marks that she would later run her fingers over and remember fondly on the road. He let his tightly monitored self control break and lost himself in her heat, listening to her keen underneath him.

Cullen could feel her tightening around him, hear her breath growing short as she approached her climax.

“Yes, good. Come for me now like a good girl,” he coaxed, moving his fingers in a way that he knew drove her over the edge.

Isolde gasped and clenched down around him as she came, which drove him over the edge himself. He buried himself in her as deeply as he could as his release slammed into him, temporarily overriding his senses and blurring his vision.

When he came back to himself, he slid out of her gently and collapsed on the carpet next to her.

“Maker’s breath. That was…”

Isolde chuckled softly. “Maybe we should have more people propose to me, if it elicits that kind of response from you.”

Cullen growled and wrapped an arm around her.

“Mine.”

Isolde ran one hand through his curls and kissed his forehead gently.

“Yes. Yours. And I’ll always come back to you.”

“And I am yours. I will always be here waiting for you,” he murmured, looking up at her.

Isolde kissed him gently, then got up and started to rummage through her clothes.

“What are you doing?” Cullen called out to her curiously.

In response, she tossed a scrap of silk at him. One of the tokens from her rejected suitor. Cullen smirked, and twisted the purple fabric between his fingers.

“Are you giving me a token of your affection? Cheapens the value when I know where this came from, my love.”

Isolde laughed, and grabbed another one for herself.

“It’s to clean up with, smartass. I hate the stupid things.”

Sweet Andraste, he loved that woman. Cullen cleaned himself up cheerfully, smirking at the soiled fabric afterwards. He dropped it on the floor and slipped into bed beside Isolde, wrapping his arms around her.

She curled up into him, her much smaller frame nestled against his larger one. He could hear her breath slowing, becoming more measured as she dropped off to sleep. He placed a kiss to her shoulder and fell asleep beside her.

He was hers, every inch. As much as she was his.

  



End file.
